Doll (Working Title)

Doll (Working title)

She is the color of an endless night
Her scalp is prodded with wholes strands of lamb’s wool is then weaved in
She is engorged with the souls of ancestors
Her pupils burn ‘til they darken clear polish drowns her orbs
She is tied onto rods
Her hands are forced at her side the soft whispers of guidance, promise is meant to soothe her into tomorrow
She is resisting with her mouth
Her face is held down a thread is placed through the hoop of a needle
She is not to cry
Her voice strengthens and travels the needle is warmed
She is terrified and abandoned
Her voice weakens the needle passes through her lips
She is told who she is
Her voice is gone her hands deliver the final stitch
She is given a permanent smile